


Accessories

by Sherry_CS



Series: Vêtements [3]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 18:08:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19446826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherry_CS/pseuds/Sherry_CS
Summary: What if on that fateful night, Feilong and Mikhail exchanged accessories -- unbeknownst to one of them?Canon Divergence -- sans kidnapping.Translation of my own work.





	Accessories

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [他的项链，他的丝巾](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19301671) by [Sherry_CS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherry_CS/pseuds/Sherry_CS). 



It was four o’clock in the morning that Feilong noticed the thing. Shining bright against the dip between his collar bones, a flash of gold in the rearview mirror that drew Yoh’s attention instantly. Feilong looked down, and saw it — an unfamiliar piece of jewellry that he knew all too well who it belonged to. 

He ripped it off his neck and held it up against the fleeting streetlights. At first look, it was a rather plain thing. A thin square piece of gold hanging off a simple chain. A closer look revealed more. With its top two tips being round, it resembled — could it be? — a tombstone. On one side of it, engraved in sombre letters were these words — 

_M. Arbatov_

_xx. xx. xxxx_

— the latter half being his birthday. Liu Feilong concluded that indeed this was a mini-tombstone. 

Fun choice of accessory, Arbatov. 

He turned the pendant over to see if there was anything written on the other side. He took one look, and pressed open the window. 

——

If he only did it once or twice, Feilong could still turn a blind eye. It was when he did it for the third time that Liu Feilong really couldn’t stand it any more. 

He strode up to the man, not minding the occasional splash from the swimming pool soiling his perfectly shined leather shoes. 

Mikhail Arbatov was lolling in a wide recliner in the shade, smirking his bad-boy smirk, waiting for — in his own words — the most beautiful person in the world to approach. A piece of silk was tied around his left wrist, an element of sophistication so rarely seen on the man, and he was flaunting it for all to see. As Feilong got closer, he dispersed the swarm of hot models gathering around with practiced gallantry. 

“Take it off. Now.” Feilong’s order reached Mikhail as soon as his footsteps did. His tall figure cut the sunlight off for Mikhail and he just stood there, not wishing to have any further exchange with the man. 

Mikhail’s smirk only widened. He crossed his hands behind his head and leaned back, into a strip of sunlight escaping Feilong’s block which lit his hair up like it was real gold. “What if I do not?” He teased. Then he turned his head a tiny bit and sniffed the fabric, “I can still smell you on this, baby.”

“You little piece of…!” Feilong wanted to strangle the man and he’d already started to, before he forcefully reminded himself that they were not alone. “Give it to me. Now. I will not say this twice.” And he held out his hand. 

“Alright, alright, not much for a little romantic humour, I see.” The Russian devil conceded in a singsong way, and brought his arms down. He’d already started to untie the silk before he blinked at Feilong mischievously, and asked in a confiding tone, “you can have it, but are you sure you want to see what’s underneath?” 

Feilong knit his brows together in question. Mikhail only smiled, and tugged the piece off.

Feilong blushed instantly. Mikhail’s smile deepened into a grin. 

“Hurt like hell the morning after, you know? It’s almost healed now, but I’m afraid I’ll forever bear the mark…” he caressed the dark reddish-brown scar on the inside of his wrist, and sighed dramatically. 

Those were bite marks and Feilong knew all too well where they came from. He wished he could forget. 

The third — or was it fourth? — time around that night, Feilong was all but sinking into the bed. He didn’t even know what position he was in, so strengthless and numb and foreign did his body feel to him. He was not seeing things clearly and his brain was fried. He buried his head into the pillow and bit into the cotton. His tears and his saliva was wetting the fabric but he was too far gone to care. He felt a warmth descending over his slippery back, a breath up his neck, and a whisper into his ear. “Leave that pillow alone. Bite me instead.” A wrist appeared next to his mouth and before Feilong could say no or fuck you, the pounding inside his body suddenly picked up pace, breaking open a tunnel that ripped open his flesh to the very core, bringing the attack right down to his quavering lips. He opened his mouth to scream, and found the proffered wrist rather handy. 

What happened happened. He was not one to deny.

“Keep it if you want it so much. Just keep it out of my sight.” He looked down at Mikhail and ordered disdainfully. Before he could turn on his heel and just go, Mikhail stopped him with a soft — “do you still have my little keepsake, my Sweet Treasure?”

Feilong slowly turned around, his eyes twin mines of murder. Mikhail’s eyes blinked as did a puppy’s. He raised his hands in concession and asked innocently, “what?”

“First off, Arbatov, there is no keepsake between the two of us,” Feilong’s words cut like ice, “and second, you only got to put it on me because I was — ”

— unconscious. Fortunately his thought ran faster than his words, so he stopped himself short before he could breathe the shameful word. His cheeks blushed crimson again.

He didn’t know what to expect of Mikhail Arbatov if and when he was finally to have the blonde hipster at… well... at his game. After all, the uncouth wolf was advertising his need far and wide for too long that Feilong was half-expecting him to not reach the mark. How very... inaccurate of him. Like a magician, the man had endless tricks to pull out of his hat and he wanted to pull all of them in one night. He ripped his prey open not once, not twice, but three times… and after that Feilong lost count. 

He had planned to get up and go after they’d done the deed, maybe even toss the Russian a little ‘that was fun’ or something like that. Next thing he knew, he’d jerked awake in a furry (and hot!) embrace. It was into the small hours of the night, and he felt like he’d just died. It took him a few minutes to piece his mind back together, then he tried to stand up. He was in such a frenzy that he didn’t notice the extra weight against his neck, nor did he look for the maroon scarf he wore that night to bring a little contrast to his suit. 

And now, that damned piece of silk was staring him right in the face, mocking his shame, reminding him of all the distasteful tidbits of one wrong, very wrong, night. 

“If you must know, your little souvenir found its new home in the nearest trash bin I could find that night, and you may well find it in some stray dog’s belly by now. If you’ll excuse me.” Feilong finished what he had to say and turned quickly to leave. He would not give the beast any further chance to prick him. 

Mikhail Arbatov was the first man to throw Liu Feilong into such tumult and he would be the last. 

Feilong marched stoically to the elevator. There, while waiting, he dragged the unwanted chain of gold out of his pocket. Why he kept it he had no idea. Because it was wrong to throw away something bearing someone’s name and birth date? At least that was what he told himself. He did not bother to explain why he would tuck at it from time to time just to make sure it was there, though. 

He turned the golden plate over and read what was written there —

_I’d rather be fucking._

So is that what you want written on your tombstone, Arbatov?! The man never failed to fill him with wonder (and disdain, of course). 

The elevator arrived. He stepped in, tossing the little piece of jewelry away in the ashtray above the bin. 

—— 

The elevator descended. A furry hand reached into the ashtray and picked up something sparkly. Dark laughters ensued. 

“I’m not an accessory, you know.” The man’s voice was full of mirth, and expectation, and something very dark and very delicious. “You can’t throw ME away like that, Mr. Liu - Fei - Long.”

And with that, he put the chain back up around his neck, wrapped the scarf over his shoulders in an original way, and pressed the down button. 

**Author's Note:**

> Translating my own work... it's a job both tedious and easy, cuz on one hand, you're just writing it all over again, and it gets boring about two sentences in, on the other hand, you get to throw away all the unnecessary details, rearrange pieces to your satisfaction, or even give it a new way to end!
> 
> So this is not an accurate translation, not word for word for sure, but it gives you the same story and the same gist. I hope.


End file.
